by L. T. Ryan
Jack worked his way up the industrial grey painted stairs to the fourth floor, cautiously approaching every turn and doorway. Anyone could be hiding out here, just waiting for some fool to come by that they could rob, rape, and/or kill.
He reached the fourth floor, pushed open the door, entered the hallway. It was dark, most of the lights on the floor smashed out. He made his way down to apartment D and knocked on the door. No answer. He waited a minute, noticing how dented the door was and how the paint was cracked and falling off in chips. He knocked again. Still no answer.
Jack turned the doorknob, found it unlocked, pushed the door open. He had a preconceived notion of what the apartment would look like from the moment he entered the building. It didn’t disappoint him. If anything, it was more disgusting than what he had imagined.
That poor girl. I can’t believe she has to live in this shit hole.
It disturbed him to think that sweet little girl would probably end up like her mother, an addicted prostitute drug dealer. That was his assumption at least.
He entered the apartment and closed the door behind him. There were no signs of anyone. “Hello?” he called out.
No response.
He started to reach for the light switch but stopped himself. He had been around long enough to know that you could wire a light switch to do some pretty nasty stuff. Instead he walked over to the windows and opened the blinds.
As the light filled the room, he realized that maybe Mandy’s mom wasn’t the slob he thought she was. The apartment wasn’t messy, it was ransacked. Jack’s instincts kicked in and he went on high alert. He pulled out his gun and proceeded cautiously through the rest of the apartment.
The small dwelling only had a few rooms. He checked them all to make sure no one was hiding. He knew he wouldn’t uncover any dead bodies. It didn’t smell bad enough.
He entered the bedroom, which was as trashed as the rest of the apartment. On the dresser was a picture of Mandy with whom Jack guessed was her mother. He removed the picture from the frame and stashed it in his backpack. On the floor lay a tattered old teddy bear. He grabbed it as well, figuring Mandy would be happy to be reunited with her stuffed animal.
Jack searched the apartment thoroughly, didn’t find anything concrete. This was a professional job, not a random break in. What had the woman done to deserve this? The thought that whoever broke in might be watching crossed his mind. On top of that, the old man knew he had Lester, which meant Bear had been followed. Whoever followed Bear had likely been positioned outside the questioning cellar, and they would have followed Jack here.
He peeked out the door and saw the hallway was empty.
Time to go.
Jack stood just inside the entrance of the apartment building. He surveyed the scene outside through the dirty window pane, looking for any sign of the old man’s crew waiting for him.
A bum wearing an old fashioned hat and a trench coat pushed through the doorway.
“Hey,” Jack said. “Give me your hat and coat.”
“Screw you, asshole,” the bum said.
“I’ll pay you.”
“Fine. One thousand dollars and it’s yours, man.”
Jack pulled out a wad of cash and held out a hundred dollar bill in front of the bum’s face.
The bum’s eyes lit up. “You got a deal, bro!” He pulled off his coat and hat and handed them to Jack.
The stench of the trench coat overwhelmed Jack, but he didn’t have much choice. Without it, he’d be made the instant he walked out the door. He buttoned up the coat and put on the hat, praying that it wasn’t infested with lice. He hated the shaved head look. He opened the door, turned back to the man and flipped him the baseball cap and jacket he had been wearing when he entered the building.
Jack dipped his head as he took the steps from the building to the sidewalk. He spotted two of the old man’s guys out of the corner of his eye. They watched him as he walked down the stairs. He saw one of them point at him and Jack reached into his coat and grabbed the handle of his gun.
The men’s eyes shifted back to the door.
Jack breathed a sigh of relief as he turned onto the sidewalk and headed back towards Clarissa’s apartment.
7
A couple blocks away, Jack glanced over and saw the old man’s white Mercedes stop next to him. His heart sank. He had been spotted leaving the building.
“Heya Jack,” Charles said from inside the Mercedes
“What’s your ugly ass doing out here?” Jack asked.
“Picking up the old man’s dry cleaning,” Charles replied.
Jack faked a smile.
“I need you to get in the car, Jack.” Charles rested the barrel of his gun on the window.
Jack looked for an escape route. The high walls of block-wide apartment buildings trapped him.
“There’s nowhere to run, Jack. We got guys all around.”
Jack felt the barrel of a gun poking his back. He slowly raised his arms. The person behind him reached around and pulled Jack’s gun out of his pocket, then pushed him forward. Jack stumbled, turned, saw the bum from the building wearing his hat and jacket.
“Like, thanks for the hundred, bro,” the bum said.
Charles and the bum burst into laughter.
Jack wondered how he had been so stupid. “Very clever, you got me.” He heard the car door open behind him and braced himself for what was to come. Bullet to the brain? Bat to the head?
Charles placed his massive hand on Jack’s shoulder. “C’mon, Jack. Why don’t you get in the car?”
Jack obliged. He had no choice.
The bum closed the door behind Jack and walked away, whistling a tune.
Charles signaled to the driver and the car pulled away.
“Jack, give up the search for the girl’s mother. That’s a dead end,” said Charles.
“What? What are you talking about?” Jack asked.
“The little girl was supposed to be a diversion. We put her there so no one would see you get into the Boss’s car.” Charles poked him in the chest.
Jack glared back at Charles and clenched his fists.
I was set up. They planted the little girl. And now she and her mom are in danger because of me.
Charles looked down at Jack’s hands. “Don’t bother Jack. You wouldn’t stand a chance in the back of this car.” He paused. “So anyways, when you helped the little girl, you messed up the old man’s plans. The mom had done some work for him. She might be pissed that he kidnapped her and her daughter, but she wouldn’t dare stand up to him.”
“She was just standing there crying. She said she didn’t know where her mother was,” Jack said.
“Imagine you’re an 8 or 9 year old kid, Jack. What’d you do if I told you ‘don’t tell the truth,’ and that if you did I’d kill your mother? And no matter how safe you thought you were, I would be watching you and would chop your mommy’s head off if you said anything. Would you talk?” Charles’s eyes were wide, his hands out.
“Guess being the old man’s top guy is a boring gig, huh, Chuck?” Jack said. “Getting your rocks off by scaring little girls now?”
Charles threw his head back and laughed. He didn’t get dirty much anymore, but you didn’t insult him like that. He stopped laughing then slammed his large elbow into Jack’s face.
The impact knocked Jack’s head back into the seat. The elbow smashed his nose. His eyes teared up and he felt blood pouring over his upper lip. He reached up and felt his nose. It wasn’t broken. Charles didn’t have enough room to strike with that kind of force. But it was a clear reminder of the disadvantage Jack was at in the backseat of a car against a man like Charles.
“You got anything else to say, Jack?” Charles chuckled.
Jack wiped his eyes and pinched his nose closed. He looked over at Charles who was still smiling. He stared at the scar that ran from an inch above Charles’s right eyebrow down to his jaw.
Charles glanced over. His eyes narrowed, his
lips thinned. “I ain’t forgot about that night, Jack. I’ll never forget that you did this.” He pointed to his scar, traced it halfway down.
Jack tried to clear the blood from his throat.
“I already told the old man, the moment he decides you are worthless to us, I want the job.” He flashed a smile at Jack. Charles had a smile like a hockey player. Jack counted at least four teeth missing.
Jack didn’t let any man intimidate him, but from a physical standpoint, Charles had him beat. Charles knew how to fight and he could take a hell of a lot of punishment. Jack had to watch himself in this situation. It could get out of control fast. If there was one person the old man wouldn’t immediately kill for disobeying his orders, it was Charles. Sure, he might get an earful for killing Jack, but that would be about it. Charles knew it. More importantly, Jack knew it too.
The two men sat in silence for a few minutes until Charles reached to the side.
Jack turned, arms up ready to defend himself.
Charles laughed. “Jesus, Jack. I’m getting a drink out for us.” He pulled out a fifth of whiskey and retrieved two tumblers from the center console. He poured each of them a shot.
Jack took the glass and wiped the blood away from his lips with the sleeve of the dirty trench coat, trying not to think of what might be living on the rag. He tilted his head back, letting the whiskey burn its way down his throat, then he held out the glass for another pour.
“Thirsty?” Charles asked him.
“Just pour me another.”
Charles chuckled. “Hey, the more the merrier. Just gonna make it easier to kill you if need be.”
Jack forced a smile. “So what about the girl’s mom?”
“She’s of no use to the old man now. Garbage, that’s what he called her.”
“So where is she then?”
“What do you do with garbage, Jack?”
Jack reached back behind his head and grabbed a handful of his hair.
“Forget about the mother, Jack.”
“Just tell me if she’s dead.” He locked eyes with Charles.
“Just complete the deal, Jack. Complete the deal, then you’ll get the mother.”
Jack held out the empty glass. “Let me out at the next corner and I’ll go get the briefcase.”
“You’re funny,” Charles said. But Charles wasn’t laughing. He looked more serious now than ever. “You think I’ll just let you out of this car? Have you lost your mind?”
“I’m not gonna take you there. If you want it, you let me out.”
“You’re in no position to demand anything, my friend,” said Charles.
Jack rubbed his eyes and double checked his nose, making sure it hadn’t been broken. He had a knife hidden on his leg but there was no way he could get to it without Charles noticing.
“Well? You gonna tell me where it’s at?” Charles asked. “And don’t tell me the whore’s apartment. We already searched there. Didn’t find nothing.”
Jack panicked at the thought of the old man’s guys in the apartment with Clarissa and Mandy. He controlled his emotions and asked, “What whore? What apartment?”
“Let’s not play games.” Charles shifted his drink between his hands. “We’ve had someone on you since yesterday. You went into the apartment last night with the little girl and the briefcase.” Charles pointed to Jack’s left wrist. “Then you came out this morning with nothing. My guys tore through the apartment and found nothing. No briefcase. No documents. The whore said she knew nothing about it.” He stared at Jack and held out his hands.
Jack contemplated his next move. He wondered what they had done with Clarissa and Mandy. “Did you kill them?”
“Jack, we may be criminals but we don’t kill innocent children.” Charles said, turning his palms up. “The little girl is fine. We have her in a safe place.”
“What about the woman?”
“The whore? We have her too.”
Jack clenched his jaw. “Is she safe?”
“Well,” Charles paused. He searched for the right words. “She’s not dead, Jack. But we had to… question her.”
“Bastards,” Jack said.
“You have some dangerous friends, Jack. We had to make sure she wasn’t a threat. And we needed to know for sure what she knew about the documents.”
Jack was silent. He thought about what Clarissa had likely gone through. Tough didn’t begin to define her, and Jack had seen her take down a two hundred fifty pound man. But that was a drunken customer in an alley behind a club, not a group of trained killers.
“It’s nothing a little time and a few stitches aren’t going to take care of. So as long as we get what we want, she’ll be free to be your whore again.”
Jack couldn’t stop thinking about Mandy and how scared she must be. He remembered the tattered teddy bear he found in the apartment. He reached over his shoulder to grab his bag.
“Whoa, whoa! What are you doing?” Charles shouted. He pulled his gun out and jammed it into Jack’s stomach.
“Relax, Chuck,” he said. “I grabbed the girl’s teddy bear from her apartment. I just wanted to ask you to give it to her.” He held his breath waiting for the giant to pull the trigger or remove the gun from his stomach.
“Look at you,” Charles said, holstering his weapon. “Turned into a big pussy.”
He knew Charles a long time ago, before the big man was a badass. The big man had a soft spot for kids. Jack felt sure that Charles hated that the old man authorized taking the little girl. But Charles was a good soldier and did what he was told.
Jack fished around the bottom of his bag until he found what he was really looking for. The brass knuckles felt cold against his sweaty palm. With his other hand he pulled out the stuffed bear. He held it up in front of Charles and beamed a big smile.
“This will make her feel better, I’m sure of it.”
Charles didn’t look.
“C’mon, take a look, Chuck.”
“I told you not to call me Chuck, you arrogant prick. One more time…”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence. As Charles turned his head, Jack met it with a brass knuckle reinforced right hook. Charles’s forehead split open upon impact. Blood splattered on the ceiling, the seats, and both men. The big man’s eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped back against the door.
The driver sat straight up, startled. “What the hell did you do?”
Jack reached into Charles’ jacket and grabbed his pistol. He pointed it at the driver. “Don’t move a muscle unless I say so.”
The driver froze in place. Sweat covered his forehead. It started beading down his face.
“Unlock the door and give me your cell,” Jack said.
The driver unlocked the car doors, offered up his cell phone.
Jack slowly backed out of the car, keeping his gun trained on the driver’s head. He fired a shot into the navigation system and then took off.
8
“Wipe the blood from your face, child.”
Clarissa reached over, grabbed the towel lying next to her and wiped the blood and dirt off her face. The last eight hours had been hell. Three different interrogators had beaten her, each of them using a different tactic. They all wanted to know the location of the documents. She figured that with as much torture as she had gone through, they would believe her denials. But they all knew Jack, and anyone associated with him should be considered as trained and dangerous as him.
“Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know?” asked the mysterious man.
She pushed her head and torso off the ground and looked up at him. This man was different. Not that big when compared to the other three that had taken turns beating her. He looked to be as tall as her, but he probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred fifty pounds. His face was drawn and pale, with a thin silver and grey mustache. However, he had a sinister look about him. His nose crooked like a fighter’s. His left eye was completely white, highlighted by the fact that the right one lo
oked black.
His eyes met hers and he continued. “Or am I going to have to persuade you?” He put on a pair of dark leather gloves.
Clarissa steadied herself, waiting for the room to stop spinning. She sat up and stared at the man.
“I’m waiting.” He tapped his foot.
Clarissa cleared her throat to speak.
The man raised an eyebrow in anticipation.
Instead of speaking, she spat at him. She aimed for his face, but the beatings had left her weak. Her spittle sprayed onto her chest, over the floor and on his shoes.
The man looked down at the mixture of blood and saliva covering his seven hundred dollar Italian designer shoes. He shook his head and smiled at her. “If these shoes didn’t cost so much, I’d break your ribs with them.”
Clarissa mustered up a laugh. “Who are you?”
“Why should I tell you?” the man asked.
“The other cowards did.”
“The other cowards also failed to coerce you to give up the information they were tasked to get from you.”
Clarissa smiled. She’d pissed the interrogators off, no doubt about that. They couldn’t get anything out of her. Not a single word.
The man smiled back. He seemed to be intrigued by her. “My name is Sinclair,” he said. Sinclair stepped back and grabbed a black leather bag from the table. It resembled one of those medical bags doctors carried around a hundred years ago.
She stared intently at Sinclair as he dug around in his bag. This is different. None of the other men had brought anything with them, just their fists. They used brute force on her. “You’re not like the others,” she said.
Sinclair looked down at her, his lips pressed tight. “Thank you, dear. I’m not part of the old man’s association. I work independently. People call me in when they need information extracted. They call me when no one else can crack the code.” He reached into his bag again, pulled out a large hypodermic needle and a vial of liquid. “I’m a specialist,” he said as he plunged the needle into the vial, filling it three quarters of the way to full. The needle slid out of the vile. He flicked the tip with his middle finger, sending a bead of fluid to the floor.
